


Karma's a McQueen

by RogueTranslator



Series: Schism [1]
Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Friendship, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, McDean, Romance, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 21:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21483346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTranslator/pseuds/RogueTranslator
Summary: Craig should have known better than to batter the only boy in a house of six women.This takes place on 9-10 February 2007, after Craig gay bashes John Paul at the five-a-side match. The show didn't really show the reaction of his family, which I thought was a big gap considering how close they are and how protective they are of John Paul. So, this fic fixes that.If you need a refresher on the storyline, there's a playlist on YouTube:John Paul & Craig (Sept. 2006 - Sept. 2007)
Relationships: Craig Dean/John Paul McQueen
Series: Schism [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550134
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Karma's a McQueen

“John Paul!”

He froze on the second step and clutched the banister, keeping his head turned down and towards the wall as he responded. “I’m going to get an early night.”

“Where have you been?” Myra said. Her fluffy slippers started shuffling from the kitchen table to the living room. John Paul could tell from the tone of her voice that she already suspected something was wrong.

“I went to the cinema,” John Paul lied.

“Oh, did you? What’d you see?”

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” John Paul started to ascend the staircase again.

“What about your dinner?”

“I’m not hungry,” John Paul called from the top of the stairs. He ran the rest of the way to his room and had barely shut the door behind him before he was crying again.

_How could he?_ John Paul thought. His head, still cold from the winter night, felt heavy in his hands. The fresh tears stung his broken lip. He threw his backpack at his wardrobe and glared as it fell to the ground, dragging one of his posters with it.

“How could he?” John Paul said. He was blubbering now, but he was past caring. It felt like Craig had ripped out his heart and used it for a football, laughing with that caveman Sonny all the while. What had he done to deserve that? So much for Craig being different from all the other chauvinists and sheep who made up their sixth form.

John Paul’s eyes darted up at the rapping on his door.

“John Paul? I’ve brought your dinner up, love!”

“Go away!” John Paul shouted. “I told you I’m not hungry!”

Myra paused for a moment before responding; John Paul knew that she could hear the distress in his voice. “I brought you some of that trifle. I set some aside for you, remember? It won’t be as good tomorrow.”

John Paul sniffed and stumbled to his feet. He didn’t want to see anyone now, like this, but he knew that his mother would make camp outside his door for the rest of the night until he let her in.

“John Paul!” Myra cried. The tray of food trembled in her hands. “What on earth’s happened?”

John Paul let go of the door handle and reached forward to take the tray. “It’s nothing, alright? I just fell today at footy.” He walked the tray to his bedside table and turned back to her.

“Don’t lie to me, John Paul.” Myra had already started tearing up. “I want the truth, now.”

John Paul could feel his eye twitching. He looked down at his dinner and watched the wisps of steam as they dissipated in the dim yellow lamplight.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll be going into school with you on Monday morning to find out what’s going on,” Myra warned.

“Mum, please.” John Paul sat down on his bed and looked at the carpet between his knees.

“Was it that Craig Dean?” Myra walked to John Paul’s wardrobe, picked up the backpack and poster, and placed both on his desk. “The lad you kissed? Eh?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” John Paul mumbled.

“So it _was_ him.” Myra placed her hands on her hips; her eyes flashed with incandescent rage. “You know, I thought I’d have a quiet night in with all your sisters out on the town. Guess I’ll be getting changed and going round to Frankie’s now.”

“No!” John Paul sprang up. “Mum, you can’t!”

Myra approached the bed and sat down. “Then you need to sit here and tell me what happened. And if you try lying to me one more time, I’ll be straight over there.”

John Paul sat beside her and sighed. He worked his hands together in his lap while Myra inspected his face.

“It was at footy practice. Craig fouled me a couple times, I shoved him. He laid into me.” John Paul peered sidelong at Myra. “I gave as good as I got.”

“So, he threw the first punch?”

“Yeah, but—” John Paul winced at the barely-contained fury on Myra’s face. “It wasn’t entirely his fault.”

“And how do you figure that?” Myra scoffed.

“It was the other boys, wasn’t it? They’ve been winding Craig up over—over our kiss. Calling him a queer, a poof—”

“And that excuses him knocking seven bells out of you, does it?”

“No.” John Paul shook his head. “I’m just trying to make you understand.”

“Really, John Paul?” Myra reached for his hand. “Because it sounds to me like you’re trying to make yourself understand.”

John Paul choked out a sob; Myra put her arms around him and pulled him close.

“He called me a queer, mum,” John Paul said into her shoulder. “While he was punching me, kicking me into the ground—how could he do that?”

Myra shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, son.”

“I thought he was different. I really did.”

Myra rubbed John Paul’s back until the shuddering had stopped and he sat up again.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” John Paul said.

“I hate to break it to you, love, but people are going to ask questions about your face.” She smiled, but John Paul was too exhausted to see any humour in the observation.

“Please,” he repeated. “I just want to forget him.”

Myra nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Did you get your injuries looked at?”

“I used the first aid kit in the changing room.” John Paul shrugged her hand from his face. “It’s only a few cuts and bruises.”

“Only a few?” Myra said indignantly. “Wait until I get my hands on Craig Dean. I reckon he’ll go scurrying behind Frankie’s skirt before I have the chance, mind.”

“Mum,” John Paul pleaded. “I don’t need you making things worse right now.”

Myra pressed her lips together and nodded at the dinner tray. “Your dinner’s gone cold by now. Do you want me to heat it up again?”

John Paul shook his head and brought the tray to his lap. “It’s fine.” He bit off half a slice of buttered toast and only chewed a few times before swallowing.

“Hungry?” Myra asked.

“Starving,” John Paul said, his mouth still full.

She smiled and stood up, then rubbed the crown of his head with the lightest of touches. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

John Paul watched as she paused in the doorway. “I love you, mum.”

“Love you too.” Myra turned just enough to see John Paul’s face again in the lamplight before closing the door behind her.

* * *

“What is it?” Jacqui yelled from the foot of the stairs. She clutched a brass candlestick; her nightgown hung loosely around her shoulders. “I heard Carmel screaming!”

John Paul sighed. “It’s only me, Jacq.”

“Eh?” Jacqui placed the candlestick in the staircase alcove and walked to where John Paul was in the kitchen. “You surprise her while she was changing or something?”

John Paul turned around to face her. Jacqui’s eyes flared as she counted the bruises and cuts that marred her brother’s features.

“Who did this to you?” Jacqui demanded, all the warmth and cheer gone from her voice.

“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out.” Carmel walked up to them, her hands on her hips. “Sorry I woke you up, Jacq.”

“I don’t know why you won’t just tell us,” Mercedes said, flipping to the next page in her magazine.

“Because it’s humiliating enough as it is, alright?” John Paul walked to the kettle and filled it.

Tina stirred her cup of tea and glanced at John Paul. “Does mum know?”

John Paul turned the kettle on and leaned against the benchtop, keeping his eyes fixed studiously on the linoleum floor.

“I reckon it’s that lad you kissed, isn’t it?” He could tell that Mercedes found all this amusing. “That’s why you don’t want anyone to know.”

“I can’t imagine why, Mercy,” John Paul said acidly.

Mercedes closed her magazine with a slam. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means: I know you don’t like that I’m gay, alright? I feel bad enough as it is; I don’t need you telling me I brought all this on myself.”

“So it _was_ because of that.” Carmel shook her head. “Who would do something that nasty?”

Mercedes stood up and glared at John Paul. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“How about we all take a deep breath,” Tina suggested.

“I can’t believe this,” Jacqui said. She tied her nightgown shut and crossed her arms. “I’ve only been out a day and I’m surrounded by screaming women because someone I care about’s been battered. It’s like being back inside.”

“Morning,” Michaela said, rounding the corner behind Jacqui. “John Paul!”

John Paul rolled his eyes and turned to face the kettle.

“Do you know who’s done this to him?” Jacqui said.

Michaela placed her hand on John Paul’s back gingerly. “I heard about what Craig did at the football match, but I didn’t think it’d be this bad.”

“So it was him,” Mercedes said triumphantly. “Craig Dean. That little weasel.”

“Thanks a lot,” John Paul said, shaking off Michaela’s hand. The kettle popped; he poured himself a coffee.

“Hang on a minute, isn’t he your best friend?” Tina said.

“Evidently not,” Jacqui said.

“John Paul,” Carmel said. “Would it help if I had a word with Frankie when I see her later?”

“You better not,” John Paul warned.

“How’d he even batter you anyway?” Mercedes had walked around the table and joined the rest of the sisters in the middle of the kitchen. “You’re like two of him.”

“Who started it, really?” Michaela said. “Because I heard from some people that it was you, but someone else told me he threw the first punch.”

“What are you doing gossiping about our brother at school, anyway?” Jacqui said. “You should be sticking up for him instead.”

“You can’t let him get away with this,” Tina said, clanking her empty mug to the table with uncharacteristic force. “If you do, he’ll only think it’s acceptable.”

“That’s right.” Mercedes pointed at the front door. “I say we all go round there right now and sort him out.”

“Er—that’s not what I meant,” Tina said. “I was thinking more along the lines of going to the school administration and trying for family mediation, something like that.”

“You can’t be serious,” Michaela said. “That’d just make things ten times worse.”

“Which is why we should take matters into our own hands,” Mercedes said.

“I agree.” Jacqui nodded. “It’s the only thing for it.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Colour me surprised that you want to barrel in fists first.”

“Stop it!” John Paul shouted. He turned around and looked each of them in the eye, one after the other. “None of you are going to do anything, alright? It’s none of your business, so just keep out of it.”

“How do you figure that?” Jacqui walked up to John Paul, holding his gaze all the while. “My brother’s been gay bashed, and I haven’t heard one word yet about your school or the useless coppers ‘round here doing anything about it. I’d say that pretty clearly makes it my problem.” She turned and strode out of the kitchen, pulling off her nightgown as she walked.

“Jacq!” John Paul called after her. “Please, I’ll sort it!”

“Well, I’m off,” Mercedes said, stuffing her magazine into her handbag.

“The rest of you—” John Paul stomped his foot in exasperation. “Swear to me that this is the end of it. I’m serious.”

“How can this be the end of it?” Carmel said. “I mean, don’t you think you should talk to him? Maybe it was all a mistake.”

“Don’t be such a dozy cow, Carm.” Mercedes pulled on her coat and picked up her bag. “That little prat’s turned our brother’s face into something out of a horror film and you’d call that a mistake?”

“Swear to me,” John Paul insisted.

Mercedes snorted and turned to leave. The others looked around evasively.

“I can’t believe this.” John Paul picked up his coffee and walked to the foot of the stairs. “This is why I want to find my own place half the time!”

“Yeah? Well don’t let me stop you,” Mercedes said, before closing the door behind her.

“What the flipping heck is going on?” Myra yelled from the top of the stairs. “I heard shouting all through my shower!”

“I’m staying in today,” John Paul said, brushing past her to reach his room. “And I want to be by myself, so don’t send anyone up.”

“Oh, love.” Myra followed behind him as he walked down the hallway. “Even if—”

“Especially him,” John Paul replied, and slammed his door.

* * *

Craig took a deep breath as the door to the pub clicked shut behind him. The dense, soupy clouds were threatening rain, but he had to get out of the house, away from the constant questions and taunts, and clear his head.

“Oh, here he is,” Michaela said, snapping her mobile shut and pushing herself away from the porch column. “Heading to the gay village, are you?”

Craig whipped around and glowered at her. “Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’ll find plenty of gay boys to bash down there.” Michaela squared up to Craig in front of the pub door. “That’s your new favourite hobby, innit?”

“I—no,” Craig said, his shoulders slumping. “It’s not.”

“Yeah? Well my brother’s face says otherwise.” Michaela crossed her arms, clearly relishing Craig’s discomfort.

“Look, you weren’t there.” Craig thrust his hands into his pockets and looked down. “It’s not like it sounds.”

“Let’s see,” Michaela said, counting out the litany on one of her palms. “Sonny wound you up, called you a poof one too many times, you took it out on my brother, who’s supposed to be your best mate. Does that about cover it?”

Craig nodded silently.

“So, what is there that’s not like it sounds?”

“He gave as good as he got,” Craig said, pointing to his lip. “He laid me out in one punch. It’s not like he’s some defenceless victim. Did he tell you that?”

Michaela shook her head. “You so don’t deserve our John Paul as a mate. He spent the whole morning sticking up for you after what you did and you’re standing here slagging him off?”

“I’m not—” Craig gritted his teeth. “I’m not slagging him off. I’m just saying, there’re two sides to every story.”

“Oh, shut it Craig.” Michaela pushed him to the side and started walking down the promenade. “Mercy’s right, you’re just a little weasel. Don’t know what my brother ever saw in you.”

Craig balled his fists and briefly contemplated returning to his room for the remainder of the day before jogging after her.

“Michaela,” he called. He wasn’t sure what more he could say to bring her around, but he felt he had to try something. Enough people hated him as it was. Normally he couldn’t be bothered about what John Paul’s kid sister thought, but with his best mate’s presence in his life removed, he felt like he was flailing around for any sort of purchase.

“You know what’s most pathetic, Craig?” Michaela turned on him at the dock, wiping tears from her eyes. “You’ve spent all this time making excuses for yourself, as if I care. And not once did you ask about John Paul.”

“John Paul—is he okay?” Craig held onto one of the posts to steady himself. “He isn’t hurt, is he?”

Michaela stared at him in disbelief. “Hurt?”

“I mean, I didn’t hit him very hard.” Craig forced a smile. “How could I, eh? With these puny arms?”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Michaela muttered.

“He’s alright though, isn’t he?”

“He’ll be fine, as long as you stay away.” Michaela glanced at the grey water, then at Craig. “You’re a garbage mate and you’re not even fit. And I bet you’re the one who kissed him!”

Craig opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“That’s right,” Michaela continued, her words dripping with venom. “I reckon you’re deep in the closet and that’s why you bashed our John Paul.”

“I’m not!”

“It’s always the homophobes who turn out to be poofters in the end,” Michaela said smugly. “See you around, loser.”

Craig watched her as she ran off in the direction of the village. He considered returning home again, but the thought of his mother’s bemused face waiting for him at the kitchen table put him off. He set out for the centre of Hollyoaks.

* * *

“Oi!” Carmel yelled. “Craig!”

Craig ducked his head and kept walking. He hadn’t exchanged more than two words with Carmel in the past, so he guessed that her trying to get his attention now could only be a bad thing.

“Stop walking so fast, will you? I can’t run in heels.”

He turned around; she was adjusting her shoes and looking up at him sheepishly. Craig sighed and sauntered up to her. “What is it?”

“Look, we don’t really know each other, but I heard what happened yesterday between you and John Paul.”

“Oh really?” Craig rolled his eyes. “News sure travels fast around here. And I’m betting that, like the rest of this village of busybodies, you have an opinion, despite not knowing all the facts.”

“Why’d you beat him up?” Carmel finished with her shoes, straightened up, and smoothed down her outfit. “Are you a homophobium?”

“That’s not—” Craig smiled his first real smile since the night of the dance-off and shook his head. “I’m not. You have to believe me.”

Carmel clasped her hands together in front of her navel. “Then why’d you have to go and do it? Do you have any idea how upset our John Paul is right now?”

Craig’s eyes widened. “And I’m not?”

“Well,” Carmel said, her eyes surveying his features. “You don’t look much worse for wear.”

“You can’t tell from my face,” Craig said, looking at her in alarm. How was it possible that a boy as intelligent and deep as John Paul had a sibling like Carmel?

“I don’t mean your fat lip.” Carmel hugged her coat around herself and motioned him to a nearby bench. Craig followed her reluctantly. “John Paul is depressed, I can tell. He won’t come out of his room.”

Craig stabbed his finger to his chest. “Don’t you think I’m broken up about it too? I’ve lost my girlfriend and my best mate!”

Carmel glanced over at him; her eyes were disconcertingly perceptive. Craig was beginning to think that she wasn’t as simple as she put on.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine, right? You’re saying it’s my fault.” Craig looked down at his hands; they were pale in the cold air and still ached from the fight yesterday. “Figures; that’s what everyone thinks.”

“Well, is it?”

“He tried it on with me!” Craig yelled, loudly enough to produce a faint echo in the nearby courtyard. “And now everyone thinks I’m—like him.”

He felt Carmel’s hand insinuating itself slowly into his. She was warm and smelled faintly of coconut and cinnamon.

“But—would that be so bad?” She squeezed his hand for emphasis.

Craig glanced up at her once he realised what she was saying. “I’m not gay!”

“It’s okay to be gay,” Carmel said earnestly. She scooted closer on the bench until they sat flush together. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I know that!”

“I don’t think you do, Craig. Or else, you wouldn’t have bashed my brother.”

“Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Craig said, pulling his hand out of Carmel’s grasp. “But I’m not gay. I like girls. I have—had—a girlfriend. I don’t mind that John Paul is—”

“Then—” Carmel stood up suddenly and glared down at him. “Then you battered our John Paul for no good reason! If it’s not because you’re confused, you only did it to be mean and nasty!”

“No!” Craig tensed his hands in his lap; he had the feeling that he was making less and less sense as the conversation went on. “It was a mistake, okay? I don’t know what came over me. All the stress from the last couple weeks just got the better of me and—and I snapped.”

“You call those reasons?” Carmel turned and began walking towards Evissa. “I should dob you in to Calvin for what you did. Homophobiums like you deserve everything they get.”

“Wait,” Craig said, following her. “Carmel. Can you tell me how John Paul is?”

She stopped at the entrance to Evissa, her hand on the door. “I heard him saying to our mum that he doesn’t want to go back to school.”

“What, ever?”

“Well, I heard something about him maybe switching to another one,” Carmel said pensively. “I didn’t catch the entire conversation before I had to come here, though.”

“Wait—” Craig reached forward and held the door to Evissa closed. “He’s transferring? Because of one fight?”

“Like I said, I don’t know.” Carmel pulled at the handle and elbowed him away. “Let go of the door, Craig. I’ve got nothing more to say to you.”

“Right.” Craig withdrew his hand. “I just—I didn’t expect all this.”

“You know, our Michaela told us that you never had any mates before John Paul.” Carmel turned around, regarding him with cool disdain. “If he does switch to a new school, I hope you never have any mates after him, either. A lout like you doesn’t deserve someone as kind, as sweet, as gentle as my brother.” She sniffled, threw open the door, and walked through.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay?”

He watched Carmel through the glass as she set up her beautician station, taking no notice of him. His eyes stung in the bitter cold. After looking around at the empty street, Craig trudged away, heading to Il Gnosh to warm up.

* * *

“Just a coffee,” Craig said. He leaned against the bar and looked at his mobile, hovering over John Paul’s name in his text history. After a while, he slid his phone shut and pressed his palms over his eyes. He felt drained, spent: he needed time to think, and the lack of sleep lately wasn’t helping in that regard.

“Is this seat free?”

Craig removed his hands from his face and looked up to see Tina. She offered him a tight, civil smile.

“Be my guest.”

She sat on the stool next to his and ordered a coffee. “You looked like you were deep in thought just now. If there’s anything you want to talk about—well, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

“Right. You’re also John Paul’s sister,” Craig replied, mixing his coffee. “Then again, so is half the town.”

“If taking cheap shots at our family makes you feel better, don’t let me stop you.” She peered at him over her glasses and sipped her coffee. “You’ve got form for that, after all.”

Craig rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, go ahead. You might as well have your pop at me too, like the rest of your lot.”

“I’m guessing you responded to them with self-pity as well?”

“Why shouldn’t I stick up for myself?” Craig swivelled on his stool to face her. “It’s not like you McQueens are interested in giving me the benefit of the doubt, after all.”

Tina set her coffee cup on its saucer and returned his glare. “That includes John Paul, does it? Because if you think he doesn’t give you ‘the benefit of the doubt,’ you don’t know the first thing about him.”

“No,” Craig said, after a moment. He looked down at the steam on his coffee and shook his head. “I didn’t mean him. I know he’s a mate.”

“Craig,” Tina said. “I didn’t come here to row. Believe it or not, John Paul isn’t the only halfway sensible one in our family.”

“John—yeah, sensible is a good word,” Craig said, smiling. “Quiet, calm. Way more than me, as I’m sure you can tell by now.”

“Do you call him John?”

“Er—sometimes,” Craig said. He picked up the teaspoon again and resumed stirring his coffee. “Or JP. But John Paul most of the time. I mean, it’s usually just me and him, so I don’t have to specify who I’m talking to most of the time—uh, sorry.”

Tina shrugged. “What are you apologising for?”

“I’m rambling.” Craig drank the rest of his coffee and stared down at the empty cup. “My head’s just been all over the place since—since—”

“Since you kissed?”

“That—” Craig searched Tina’s expression, but she was a study in impassiveness. “I’m not gay, alright? Your Carmel already tried convincing me I am, and it didn’t work.”

“I see.” Tina looked at Craig sidelong and finished her coffee. “I don’t think I want to know what happened there.”

“Anyway, the point is, he kissed me, not the other way around. And we were just messing about; it was matey. I don’t know why everyone has to go on about it so much.”

“But you did kiss,” Tina pressed him. “Maybe it meant something different to each of you, but you both felt close enough to each other to let it happen, right?”

“I guess,” Craig said glumly.

“And did you already know he was gay then?”

“Yeah,” Craig replied, before he realised what he was saying. “Wait, how did you—”

“I figured you were probably the first person he told.” Tina was watching him with a gleam in her eye that made him uncomfortable. She may have seemed owlish and unthreatening at first blush, but she was still a McQueen, and Craig felt that he had made a mistake by saying as much as he had.

“So, you knew he was gay, but you carried on being friends and then went to that school dance together,” Tina continued.

“With girls,” Craig pointed out. “As our dates.”

“And at that dance you kissed him, knowing he was gay.”

“How many times? He kissed me!”

“Oh, whatever. The point is that the two of you stayed best friends all the way through. Which means that you didn’t have a problem with him being gay before.”

Craig raised his hands into the air. “That’s what I keep saying!”

“But what I don’t understand is, if you were fine with it, why’d you go and beat him up?”

“Because, it’s—things get heated during a match, don’t they? Lads fight sometimes, we get over it. We’re not like girls.” Craig gauged her reaction. “It wasn’t because he’s gay.”

“Except you called him slurs while kicking his teeth in. That’s the textbook definition of a hate crime.” Tina told him this as matter-of-factly as if she were reading him the synopsis of a novel off its back cover.

“Look,” Craig said finally. “I don’t know what you’ve heard—what you think you know. But it wasn’t like that. We both went for each other.”

“Only, a few extra words slipped out on your end, not to mention a few extra blows.” Tina’s eyes narrowed. “’Both went for each other.’ You’ve got barely a scratch; his face looks like a Picasso thanks to you!”

Craig stood up and paid for his coffee. “If you’re bent on casting me as the villain, I don’t know what more I can say.”

“How about, ‘I’m sorry?’” Tina said crisply.

“What, to you?” Craig scoffed, though he already knew what she meant.

“To John Paul.” Tina glanced at Craig’s pocket. “It’s the least you can do.”

Craig swallowed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What—what if he knocks me back?”

“Let me give you some advice, Craig.” Tina retrieved a novel from her bag and placed it on the bar in front of her. “If you forget about things that don’t matter, like your misplaced pride, you can worry about things that actually matter, like losing your best friend because you did something unforgivable.”

“If it’s unforgivable, why should I even bother? Won’t me bringing it up just hurt him again?”

“I said it’s unforgivable,” Tina said, opening her novel to the bookmarked page and ordering another coffee. “Not that he wouldn’t forgive you.”

“I don’t get it.”

Tina looked over her shoulder, and for an instant Craig saw John Paul’s face: his incisive gaze, his compassionate smile. “He loves you, doesn’t he?”

With that, she hunched over her book. Craig watched her back for a while longer, feeling rooted to where he stood in the middle of the restaurant. He walked to the door and fiddled with his mobile in his pocket for a few seconds before leaving Il Gnosh for the fresh air of the street.

* * *

Craig ambled to the bus stop, still palming his phone with nervous energy. He had a half-baked plan to go into Chester to be alone with his thoughts. There, at least, it’d be harder for the nearest member of John Paul’s immediate family to corner him and make him feel terrible for what he’d done.

Mercifully, the bus stop was empty. Craig leaned against the side of the enclosure and took out his mobile. Only his mother had called; there was nothing from Sarah or John Paul.

“I’m such an idiot,” Craig mumbled. He sniffed and thrust his phone back into his pocket.

“You got that right,” came a brassy, dyspeptic voice from behind him. The menacing clicks of stilettos on pavement grew louder as she walked up.

Craig groaned loudly and pushed himself away from the bus shelter. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Yeah? Well our John Paul didn’t want to get beaten up, but we don’t always get what we deserve, do we?” Mercedes tossed her hair away from her face and crossed her arms.

“Look, I don’t know what more you can say.” Craig glanced around the street, avoiding her gaze. “I’ve already seen Michaela, Carmel, and Tina. You think one more of you tearing a strip off me is going to make a difference?”

“Maybe not.” Mercedes grinned broadly. “But it sure as hell will make me feel better.”

Craig puffed out a short breath. “Oh, that’s right. It’s all about you, isn’t it?”

“Takes one to know one.” She looked him up and down. “I know your type from a mile off.”

“Like when you went round to my mum’s work the other day, shouting the odds,” Craig continued, ignoring her. “How exactly did that help John Paul?”

Mercedes stepped forward and shoved him in the chest. “Don’t you dare pretend that you give a stuff about our John Paul.”

“I do!”

“Wow.” She shook her head and watched him with a discomfiting blend of contempt and admiration. “And people call me shameless.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.” Craig brushed past her and started walking towards the nearby alleyway. “This is between me and John Paul, so the rest of you can just keep your noses out.”

Mercedes chased after him. “Yeah? Well then why aren’t you at ours right now, trying to sort things out with him?”

“What?” Craig stopped in the middle of the street. The wind whipped his scarf over his shoulder, and he tucked it back into place.

“You heard me. If you really cared about my brother, you’d be trying to put things right. After what you did, you should be on your knees in front of him, begging his forgiveness.” Mercedes snorted. “Although, if what I’ve heard about you is true, you might enjoy that.”

Craig turned to her and scowled. “It’s John Paul who’s gay, not me. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You’re bound to say that, aren’t you?” Mercedes lunged at him, her hair falling into her eyes. “Keep your dirty thoughts about my brother to yourself, you little woofter. It’s never going to happen, alright?”

Craig shook her off and took a step back. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I’ve spent all day being slapped around for being a homophobe, when all along the real one’s in John Paul’s own family!”

“Well, at least I didn’t kick his head in like some people.” She adjusted her handbag and strutted to the alley.

“Look,” Craig said, catching up to her at the mouth of the alleyway. He considered placing his hand on her shoulder, but thought better of it. “I hope you aren’t giving John Paul a hard time. I think he’s going to need your support right now.”

Mercedes exhaled sharply and spun around on her heel. “You really are unbelievable. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?”

“Yes!”

“And you want to stand here and tell me how I should behave to my own brother?”

“No! Yes—” Craig threw his hands down in frustration. “John Paul is gay, alright? He’s gay, and he’s out now at school and everything, so you’ve just got to accept it!”

Mercedes stepped forward and smacked Craig across the face with enough force to send him staggering backwards.

“You need to get a grip.” Mercedes’s chest heaved with rage as Craig clutched his cheek. “I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, but leave my brother out of it from now on.” She gave him a final withering look before turning and walking up the alley.

“He told me he loved me!” Craig shouted, his eyes filled with tears.

“You’re lying.” She stopped walking, but kept her back to him.

“Ask him.” Craig leaned one of his arms to the alley wall and wiped his face with his other hand. “It was two weeks ago, at his girlfriend’s eighteenth. We were in the back garden and he told me how he felt. Ask him.”

“No need,” Mercedes said, but she didn’t move.

“And when he kissed me—how do you think that happened?”

“How else? I reckon you forced yourself on him.”

“You think—” Craig cleared his throat. “You think I’ve been messing with his head? Making him confused about his—his sexuality? Maybe I have. But he’s not completely innocent on that score himself.”

“Goodbye, Craig,” Mercedes said quietly. She walked to the top of the alley and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

Craig stopped under the bridge over Stockton Lane. Frankie had sent him a text asking where he was; he realised that he’d been gone for over two hours now. Craig guessed that she must have stayed home from work out of worry for him.

He returned his mobile to his jeans and rubbed the pinch in his forehead. She and Carmel wouldn’t get into any sort of altercation this way, but it meant more of her fussing when he got home.

Craig started walking again, emerging from the shadows of the train bridge into the midday sun. There was enough of a break in the clouds to make it feel almost warm when he wasn’t in the shade. At the entrance to the park, he meandered off the footpath, deciding to take a detour to avoid the people on the main road. It wasn’t like he was in a hurry to get back, after all.

He had only taken a few steps along the trail before he saw a pair of eyes watching him from underneath one of the rowan trees.

“Look who it is,” Jacqui said, stepping out into the light.

“You—” Craig opened and closed his mouth as she walked along the path towards him.

“Surprised to see me?”

“You’re out?”

“I am, as it happens. As of two days ago.” She stopped in front of him and quirked an eyebrow. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

Craig rolled his eyes and made to continue walking. “I’m straight. And leaving.”

“So soon? Well, I have something for you before you go.” Jacqui grabbed Craig’s forearm, spun him around towards her, and kneed him viciously in the groin. Craig gasped, then cried out; his hands shot down to his crotch.

“Hurts, does it?” Jacqui leaned in, resting her head on Craig’s shoulder as his features contorted in agony. “That’s nothing compared to what I’ll do if you ever hurt my brother again.”

“Please,” Craig choked out.

“Huh.” Jacqui lifted her hand and began inspecting her nails. “I bet John Paul said that yesterday when you bashed him. That didn’t stop you, though, from what I heard. Made you feel like the big man, did it?”

“No!” Craig took in a sharp breath and sank down to his haunches.

“Nah, I can’t imagine it did.” Jacqui straightened up and watched him as his legs gave out and he steadied himself on the cold ground. “Punching down never feels as good as sticking it to someone who deserves it.”

“I’m sorry,” Craig muttered, his eyes stinging from pain and humiliation.

“I bet you are now.” Jacqui took a seat at the end of a nearby bench. “Not me you should be telling that to, though, is it?”

Craig sniffled, taking a minute to compose himself. He rose unsteadily to his feet. “John Paul. He won’t want to see me, but I think I can make him see—I can get him to listen.”

“You won’t be doing anything like that.” Jacqui glared up at him. “You’ll stay away and let him get on without you, is all you’ll do.”

“But—” Craig motioned with his arm, exasperated. “You just said—”

“What happens when you’re both back at school? It’s alright for you to come to ours and say you’re sorry when no one’s watching, but will you stand by him there?”

Craig looked down at his shoes. “It’s not—you make it sound simple. Everyone would think I’m gay.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jacqui said coolly. “You’re only going to mess with his head more.”

“I’m not,” Craig protested.

“Text him and apologise. Then give him his space.”

“He’s going to want to see me,” Craig sputtered. “He’ll want me to explain. He’s going to need me—”

Jacqui spun around to face him. “You really rate yourself, don’t you? I mean, teenage boys are always arrogant, but you’re truly something special.”

“Well, John Paul seems to think so,” Craig said, deciding to play his trump card. “He’s in love with me, you know.”

Jacqui rolled her eyes. “You think I don’t know that?”

“What?” Craig furrowed his brow. “He told you?”

“Told me? Boy, do you have a lot to learn about the world.” Jacqui patted the stone bench beside her.

Craig eyed her warily. “Will my future children be safe?”

“Just sit down, you prat.”

“I—” Craig’s nostrils flared, but his curiosity got the better of him and he sat down at the other end of the bench. “How did you know?”

“I only had to watch the two of you together for five minutes at our Mercedes’s birthday party. It was dead obvious that he fancied the pants off you—don’t give me that face.”

“What face?"

“Not only that, but it definitely seemed like you enjoyed the attention.” Jacqui was watching him shrewdly. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Do you?”

“No!” Craig tugged at the sleeves of his cardigan, avoiding her eyes. “I’m a hundred percent straight. As straight as it gets.”

Jacqui chuckled. “To be honest, I’m surprised no one else worked out what was going on with him before now. But maybe I shouldn’t be, seeing as that house is filled to the brim with self-obsessed cows.”

“Tough hit on the McQueen household,” Craig replied, sharing a tentative laugh with her.

“Look, don’t think that just because we’ve had this little heart-to-heart that I’ve gone soft.” Jacqui rose from the bench; Craig flinched as she took a step towards him. “I can’t control who John Paul falls in love with, but I won’t see him messed about. You understand?”

“I’m not trying to mess him about.” Craig pulled his hands into his jumper and shrugged. “He’s my best mate. And that’s the way I want things to stay.”

“Apologise to him, then give him space. He’ll need time to trust you again.”

“No.” Craig shook his head. “No, he’ll think I don’t want to be his mate anymore if I do that.”

“Listen, you may be his best mate, but no one knows my brother better than I do. His head’s going to be all over the place. Let him sort things out without you for a while.”

Craig sighed. “Fine. Whatever you say.”

“And if you ever put your hands on him again,” Jacqui whispered, leaning in, “I’ll be back to finish the job on your family jewels. Everyone else at ours may be a soft touch, but you’ll find that I’m very, very different.”

Craig’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “You call any of your brood soft? If we sent the McQueens to Afghanistan, the war would be over in a week.”

Jacqui laughed; the sun sparkled jauntily off the dark sheen of her hair. “You know, I can see myself liking you. One day. If you treat my brother right.”

Craig watched her as she adjusted her denim jacket and strolled away, disappearing onto Stockton Lane. After a few minutes with his thoughts, he scrambled up and started to jog home.

* * *

“Mum?” Craig bounded up the stairs and leaned into the door. “Mum, you won’t believe the day I’ve had—”

“Craig,” Frankie said, her lips barely moving. She was standing in the kitchen with Myra. “Welcome home, love.”

“I’ll—I’ll go,” Craig said, turning back to the door.

“Please don’t,” Myra said. “I want to hear your side of the story.”

Frankie snorted. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“If you’d seen the state my John Paul is in, you wouldn’t blame me for being upset.” Myra looked at Craig, then back at Frankie. “My beautiful boy—his face—”

Craig walked towards Myra as she fished a tissue out of her handbag and began dabbing her eyes. Frankie flashed him a warning glance.

“Look, Myra, I’m very sorry about what happened to John Paul. But Craig’s head has been all over the place. You can hardly blame him for lashing out.”

“How can you say that?” Myra balled the tissue in her fist and turned to Craig. “What if it had been your son who’d had seven bells knocked out of him? Don’t you think you’d at least want to know why it happened?”

“Myra.” Frankie sat in an adjacent chair and clasped her hands together. “I’m sorry, but John Paul made unwanted advances on Craig. You know what boys are like at that age, all fists and no brains. It shouldn’t have happened, but you can't really blame him.”

“Mum.” Craig unwound his scarf, then shed his jacket and unbuttoned his cardigan. “It wasn’t like that, okay?”

“What wasn’t?” Frankie said shrilly. “Are you saying you wanted him to seduce you?”

“That’s not what happened.” Craig sat across the table from her and looked at Myra. “We were drunk and mucking about, end of. So stop slagging him off, alright?”

“Craig!”

“I overreacted.” Craig looked down at his hands. “Everything got on top of me and I made a mistake. I’m going to text him to apologise.”

Myra raised her eyebrows. “That’s the best you can do, is it?”

“I’d say that’s quite a lot as it is.” Frankie crossed her arms and looked at Myra, then the door.

“It’s not all my fault, you know.” Craig held out his palms in supplication. “My world’s been turned upside down by all this too.”

“Well poor you,” Myra said caustically.

“Watch it,” Frankie warned.

“But I know I was well out of order. That’s why I don’t want to overwhelm him. I’ll try to talk to him on Monday, but after that I’ll give him the space to come to me if he wants to talk.”

Frankie sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. “That’s very mature of you, love.”

“I’m surprised to hear myself say this, but I think that’s the best way forward.” Myra turned to Craig and touched her hand to his tentatively. “I just don’t understand. Where was this side of you yesterday afternoon?”

“Myra!”

“What?”

“Well, don’t you think he feels bad enough as it is without you laying the guilt on with a trowel?”

“No, mum,” Craig said. “I was in the wrong, okay? You don’t have to make excuses for me.”

“That’s not what—”

“John Paul,” he interrupted, fixing his gaze on Myra. “How is he?”

“Well, he’s hurt. Scared. Angry.” She scanned his face; he could tell that she was weighing his scars against John Paul’s. “Most of all, he’s sad about losing his best friend.”

“He hasn’t lost me.” Craig leaned forward; Frankie got up and walked to the kettle, turning her back on the entire conversation. “He hasn’t lost his best mate.”

Myra tapped her fingers to the back of his hand again. For a while, the only sound in the kitchen was the low rumble of heating water.

“I’m sorry, love,” Myra said finally. “But that’s not only up to you.”

Frankie glanced at them. “He knows that.”

“Yeah. No, I understand. I’m—I’m going to my room.” Craig scratched his head, then pushed his chair back and stood up. “Let John Paul know what I said. Only if he asks.”

Myra smiled up at him, only seeming to realise as he pulled away that she still had her hand over his.

* * *

_Really sorry mate. C u on Monday?_

John Paul lay in bed, holding his phone above his face. It was late afternoon now and nearly twenty-four hours since the fight on the five-a-side pitch, and the text he’d been idealising in his mind had finally arrived.

“That’s it?” John Paul rolled over to face his bedroom door. In his mind, Craig had only been taking as long as he had because he was writing out a lengthy, thoughtful series of messages acknowledging every way in which he had hurt John Paul. That, or he’d show up any minute outside John Paul’s window with a boombox.

John Paul sighed. Even now, after Craig had gay bashed him, silly fantasies about his best mate were intruding on his thoughts at inappropriate times.

“So stupid,” he muttered, throwing his phone to the carpet.

“Who is?” Jacqui appeared in the doorway; from the colour in her face, John Paul could tell that she’d just been out somewhere.

“Me,” John Paul said sullenly.

Jacqui lifted her eyebrows and glanced at the mobile on the carpet. “How can that be, eh? You and Tina, you’re the brains of this family. Always have been.”

“Not like that’s a high bar. I’m just the least daft of a daft lot.”

“Oi.” Jacqui pushed herself off the doorframe and walked into his room. “You can say what you like about me, but I don’t want to hear you knocking yourself down.”

John Paul covered his face with his hands and said nothing.

“You dropped something,” Jacqui said, after a moment. She picked up the phone and read the text on its screen.

“Where’ve you been?” John Paul said through his fingers, as Jacqui sat on the corner of his mattress.

“Oh, just met someone in the park. Had a nice chat.”

John Paul dropped his hands to his side and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing dodgy, I hope.”

“As if.” Jacqui handed him his mobile, then slapped his shins to get him to move up the bed. “I’m never going back inside. Going straight from now on.”

John Paul snorted and budged up to the head of his bedframe, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Yeah, right.”

“Unlike some of us,” Jacqui added, throwing jazz hands above her head.

“Thanks for that, sis.”

“What? You should be happy, shouldn’t you? Aren’t you relieved to not be carrying all that around anymore?”

“Happy?” John Paul started counting on his fingers. “I’m the punchline for every joke at school, Hannah and Sarah won’t speak to me, Craig hates me, and I look like Frankenstein’s monster!”

“They’ll get over it.” Jacqui shrugged. “Kids always do eventually.”

“Thanks, Sherlock.” John Paul opened his mobile and looked down at it. “Fat lot of good that does me right now.”

“Don’t have a go at me, John Paul. I’m only trying to help.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Jacqui glanced at his phone. “Craig sent you any more texts? That’s what you’re hoping for, isn’t it?”

“You read it?” John Paul shook his head. “What am I saying, as if there’s any chance of privacy in this house.”

“If you ask me, you’re better off without him. One poxy text after what he did? I don’t know what you see in that prat anyway.”

John Paul’s eyes widened in wrath. “Well, I didn’t flaming ask you, did I? You don’t know as much as you think you do, so just keep your opinions to yourself!”

Jacqui watched as he lifted the sleeve of his hoodie to his eyes and cried quietly.

“You really love him, don’t you?”

John Paul dropped his hands to his sides and nodded. Jacqui moved up the bed to sit beside him.

“I thought he was different, Jacq.” John Paul tilted his head back to the wall and took in a ragged breath. “He said he’d protect me. He said he _loved_ me. Turns out it was him I needed protecting from.”

Jacqui grimaced. “He said he loved you?”

John Paul nodded again.

“And he already knew you were gay? And in love with him?”

“Yeah, but—we were drunk.” John Paul wrapped his arms around himself. “Maybe everyone’s right: maybe I did take advantage of him.”

“No,” Jacqui said firmly. She reached out and stroked John Paul’s shoulder. “I think Craig’s just very, very confused, babe.”

John Paul shook his head. “I’m the confused one. I’ve made such a mess.”

Jacqui leaned forward and pulled John Paul towards her. He dug his chin into the crook of her neck and sniffled.

“You deserve love.” She rubbed between his shoulder blades and watched the leaves of the ash outside as they trembled in the breeze. “And maybe one day Craig will realise how lucky he is and turn into your Prince Charming—”

“Like that’s going to happen,” John Paul said bitterly.

“It could! He’ll figure out how much he needs you just in time, declare his love, sweep you off your feet. And then the two of you, well, you’ll ride off into the sunset together. That’s how it goes, isn’t it?”

John Paul laughed. “When did you become so soft, eh?”

“But for right now, you need to focus all your love on yourself.” She embraced him tightly; he melted into her arms, his muscles slack, just as he always had. “You need it more than Craig. And he’s got a long way to go to make it up to you.”

“I guess.” John Paul looked down at his mobile; the screen was still black. Despite everything, he couldn’t help wondering what Craig was doing at that moment. "But I still love him."

Jacqui nodded. "I know you do."

John Paul sniffed a few more times before letting go of her. They watched each other in the long afternoon shadows; after a few seconds, John Paul laughed.

“Anyway, I’m sure you’ll tell him where to go if he comes round here.”

“Me?” Jacqui scoffed, standing up and walking to the door. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”


End file.
